


Playing Dumb

by beers4fears



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, F/M, Heavy Petting, Kissing, Mutual Pining, No use of y/n, One Shot, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29227665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beers4fears/pseuds/beers4fears
Summary: You and Din set up camp for the night and enjoy a nice glass of space wine while the kid plays.It gets flirty.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 166





	Playing Dumb

“At least the kid likes the bugs,” you huffed, swatting away another cloud of tiny insects. This unnamed moon in the Western Reaches was peaceful and quiet, especially the empty forest clearing where Din had parked the Razor Crest.

He poked at the burning campfire logs, stirring the embers before hitting the lumber with another quick blast from his flamethrower.

“The smoke will help clear them out,” he said, fanning at the gently glowing kindling with the edge of his cape.

A comically large jug of jogan wine sat beside you, nearly as big as the baby’s old pram - a gift from the sweet frog family back on Trask. You poured a generous cupful into two tin mugs, one for you and one for the Mandalorian. With a heavy, contented sigh, he lowered himself to the ground, leaning up against the fallen log you shared as a backrest.

“Cheers,” you said breezily, offering him the cup. He touched his drink to yours and edged up the bottom of his helmet, bringing the rim past his lips. It took everything in you not to choke on the purple wine.

Fuck — it still was so jarring. He started doing this about a week ago, seemingly out of nowhere, with no grand ceremony or explanation. It was the most Din-kriffing-Djarin thing ever, to make a decision like this - to show just a sliver of his face - and not say a damned word about it.

He lowered the helmet back into place and held the cup out, studying its contents for a moment, rolling it between his fingers. With a pleased little nod, he hummed his approval.

“S’ good, right?” you agreed, taking another sip to hide how much the sight of his jaw got you flustered.

He sat in silence, setting the cup between his spread knees. The visor tilted over towards the kid, watching as he chased tiny bugs and lizards through the wild grass. You settled deeper against the log, used to Din’s impenetrable silence.

You remembered how awkward these silences were at first, when he hired you as his sole crewmember. The kid was mildly communicative - as much as he could be while being non-verbal - but Din was different. The helmet made everything harder than it needed to be, especially when he said so little.

It took months to get him to open up, but he’d been talking more and more lately. It started small, with sporadic commentary about mundane things like flying conditions, or his gnawing back pain. Gradually, it deepened to more personal anecdotes, his likes and dislikes, or observations about the people you two had met. When he felt chatty - like on long stretches in hyperspace, or when both you and the kid’s mouths were occupied with dinner - you were the galaxy’s most rapt listener.

You wondered if he noticed how desperately you clung to every word he spoke. It wasn’t appropriate, was it, to harbor this kind of private interest and infatuation with your employer, especially when he did so much to keep himself hidden.

“It is,” he answered, so low and quiet you barely heard him.

Your mind did a backflip, trying to figure out if he’d actually said anything. The crackling fire and nighttime chirp of insects suddenly seemed louder, like they were playing cruel tricks on you. Din was staring down at his lap, turning the tin cup slowly in his hands.

“It’s — nice,” he said slowly, choosing the words carefully. “To do this. To relax.”

“It is,” you repeated, taking another sip as he brought the cup back to his mouth. His chin was dusted with a light stubble - brown, with flecks of grey. You’d spent too much time thinking about that, ever since he first drank his nutrient broth in front of you.

Brown hair, with flecks of grey like glimmering starlight. You imagined running your fingernails along his jaw, scratching along the coarse hair until you reached the back of his neck. You imagined how you’d lightly clasp him there, how tense he’d be, how you’d have to slowly guide your lips together, careful and gentle.

The baby waddled up between you and tapped his claws against the glass wine jug. Big black eyes blinked expectantly up at you as he pointed at it.

“No way,” you giggled. “This is for grown-ups only.”

“He’s older than both of us,” Din sassed.

“Then it’s for people who can pay their own bills. How’s that, freeloader?”

The kid chittered an indignant little response and gave up his begging, scurrying away to chase his next reptilian victim. A comfortable, pleasant silence fell between you and Din once again, filled only by the ambient sounds of the kid’s pattering feet and the sporadic crackle of firewood.

“I don’t know about you,” he suddenly said, “but I had my first drink long before I could pay my own bills.”

Your eyes widened a bit, taken aback by his offhand comment. You mentally crossed your fingers, praying to the Maker that tonight would be one of his chatty nights.

“Oh, yeah?” you asked, working up the courage to gently prod him towards conversation. “How old were you?”

Din rolled his shoulders and leaned back a little further, settling himself against the log.

“Thirteen, maybe? One of the older foundlings got his hands on some Corellian whiskey…” he broke off, sounding wistful. A low laugh rumbled through his chest. “I could barely get my helmet off fast enough to throw it back up.”

You felt like you’d won one of those silly lotteries on Cantonica, except this was so much better. The prize was his attention. His memories.

“How about you?” he asked. “When was your first drink?”

Okay, woah _._ So he was being _really_ chatty. You composed yourself quickly to respond.

“Much older than thirteen,” you quipped into your cup. “I was a good girl.”

He lightly scoffed, the sound of it unmodulated and natural, as the bottom lip of his helmet was lifted once more. Your cheeks burned bright like the campfire.

“Sure,” he said, his teeth glinting in the golden light before disappearing behind the cover of his cup.

 _Stars,_ he was going to kill you doing that - smirking at you from between his helmet and his mug. He had to know how it was affecting you… right?

“I was!” you playfully argued, wrestling down the syrupy longing in your chest. “I didn’t have my first drink until I was eighteen. By then I was old enough to understand this thing called _limits._ ”

He hummed, warped and deep through the vocoder.

“It was some shitty, cheap ale. Not very cold, either,” you remembered with a shudder. “But I drank it anyway. I was trying to impress a boy.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

“It worked _just_ fine, thank you very much,” you answered, playfully smacking the space between his pauldron and gauntlet. The weathered canvas was soft under your palm. Din didn’t move away at the contact, a realization that made your stomach flutter.

“And what happened to him?” he asked. “Still around?”

You bit your lip over a slowly spreading grin and exhaled, swirling the last bit of wine in your cup.

“Long gone,” you said hazily, fondly remembering your first foray into love, all those years ago.

You took another sip, draining the last of the tin mug. The flames felt hotter against your cheeks, warming you further as the wine worked its way through your muscles. You turned towards Din, feeling a little more brave and bold.

“So don’t get jealous,” you added, quirking the corner of your lips into a mischievous smirk.

Din’s body froze, as unyielding as his beskar. Slowly, only the visor turned to meet your eyes.

“ _Jealous_?” he repeated.

You pinched your lower lip between your teeth again. Were you flirting? It felt like flirting, didn’t it? And it would be, under any other circumstance, with any man other than this devout Mandalorian. Din leaned forward - maybe a little too close - and grabbed the glass jug from between your feet, thumbing its rubber stopper off with a muted pop.

“Yeah,” you doubled down, hiding the way his proximity made you dizzy. “Jealous.”

Din topped off his mug again

“What makes you think I’d get jealous?”

You took in a measured breath, buying some time to consider your words. His hand brushed yours as he reached out to refill your cup, making your inhale trip over itself in your lungs.

He was doing that thing he does with his quarries - that prying, calculated questioning, the kind that lets you know he’s always several steps ahead of everybody else.

“You’re very protective,” you said with a feigned ease. “In near-terrifying measure.”

Din shook his head softly and leaned back again, resting his shoulders against the log. His arms spread wide across the top of the fallen trunk, making him look broad and inviting. A yearning softness bloomed in your chest at the thought of scooting just a few inches closer, of tucking yourself up beneath the crook of his arm, of pressing your cheek against the cool plate of his cuirass.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said towards the sky.

A wave of nerves crested in your belly. He was still on his bounty hunter game, reserved and calculated.

You decided to play dumb. What could go wrong there? You’d really cornered yourself with that jealousy comment, and Din was pinning you there. You had no doubts that he was enjoying watching you squirm and sweat.

“What question?” you asked, taking a long sip of your drink to buy a few more seconds.

“Maybe I should cut you off,” he half-joked, reaching for your cup. You snatched it away with a playful yelp.

“My tolerance is far higher than a couple mugs full of jogan wine,” you chided with a lighthearted sneer. “Besides, you’re the one who doesn’t understand drinking in moderation.”

You faked a retching sound, head doubling over towards his lap. The kid giggled somewhere in the distance, sparking your own laughter.

“Kriff, I was _thirteen_ ,” Din groaned, tipping you upright by the shoulder. His gloved hand was warm and broad across it; his fingers splayed gently across your collarbone. You memorized the sensation, cataloging the pressure and texture, the subtle smell of conditioning oil and blaster cleaner.

He didn’t let go - not when your laughing fit broke into a tiny catch of breath, not when the kid climbed up onto his lap, and not when you swore your eyes met his beneath the tinted visor.

An adorable, trilling yawn broke the spell, coming from the child sprawled out in front of you. Din removed his hand from your shoulder and moved the baby to the crook of his arm.

“I’ll put him down for the night,” he said. “Be right back.”

As he shuffled his legs beneath him, he braced his hand against your knee to push up off the ground.

 _Dank farrik._ Thank the Maker he was halfway up the ramp before you broke into a gleeful grin, teeth bared and blushing like a silly girl with a schoolyard crush. Fucking _hell,_ you had to pull it together before he came back out, before he could see you sitting here beaming at the fire like a certified crazy person.

He was flirting with you. He was _flirting with you._ There was no way he wasn’t. You tipped your head back against the log and gazed up at the stars, thanking each and every one for the absolute magic that was tonight. The fire, the wine, the cool and crisp air… the Mandalorian’s hand brushing against yours, wrapping around your shoulder and knee.

The grass rustled beneath Din’s boots as he approached a moment later.

“That was fast,” you remarked, tipping your head back farther to watch him round the log. He sighed into a seated position again, twisting at the waist to ease the soreness in his lower back.

“Wore himself out,” he said, clipped with effort while mid-stretch.

You didn’t miss the way his back fanned wider as he moved, how it stirred a bone-aching want in your lower belly. Once he settled against the log, it was almost unreal how close he was. One small shift was all it would take to have your bodies pressed together.

“We should do this more,” he added.

You felt your heart flutter at the proximity of his voice, how you didn’t think you’d _ever_ been this close to him.

“Do what?” you asked, immediately wincing at how the air in your voice betrayed your feigned composure.

Maker, you would be content to do just this every day - to listen to him talk low in your ear, to watch him glowing amber by the firelight.

“Let the kid play,” he answered.

You immediately flushed a darker shade of red. Why did you think Din was talking about _you,_ about sitting dangerously close together on a cool forest floor in the middle of nowhere?

You gulped down some more wine, chastised yourself for being so silly, and turned back to face him. He was right; the kid _should_ play. He didn’t ask for this life, to always be on the cusp of danger, to constantly be on the run.

Din was angled towards you, his arm draped across the back of the log again. His helmet was trained on you, perfectly still.

“Right,” you agreed, your eyes darting across the lines of his visor.

Shit, could he _move_? Do _something_? The total blankness was suffocating, making you squirm atop the soil and leaves. The only sign you had that he wasn’t suddenly frozen solid under the armor was the tiny exhalation of breath he made, bursting out as a quiet punch of static from his helmet.

Wait - was he _laughing?_ Kriff, he grilled the fuck out of you for a stupid comment and now he was _laughing_?

“Stop doing that,” you complained under your breath, twisting under his unrelenting stare.

The helmet dipped just a tiny bit closer. Your tongue felt dry and swollen, lodged in the back of your throat.

“Doing what?” he taunted.

“This—this _thing_ you’re doing,” you stammered, looking anywhere but at his helmet inching closer and closer to you.

“That’s descriptive.”

Maker, if you weren’t so hot under the collar you would’ve smacked him upside the bucket. With another low chuckle, he lifted his arm up off the log and brought it to his visor, tipping the helm back for another drink.

You couldn’t help it this time.

You looked at him again, your lips parted in equal parts wonder and concentration as his jaw revealed itself. Din went slow, like he could feel your eyes on his skin - like he was inviting you to watch.

He took a small sip, but missed some as he pulled the cup away. The purple wine glistened in tiny beads along his lower lip, tempting you to taste it.

He swiped it away with a gloves thumb.

“Kriff,” you exhaled as he pushed it into his open mouth. “You make me nervous doing that.”

Thank the stars for the crackling fire - the only thing masking the sound of blood roaring between your ears.

“Doing what?”

Din lowered the helmet back down and set his cup off to the side.

“Lifting your helmet like that. Isn’t that… I dunno — risky?”

He didn’t need to know it made you nervous in many, many ways, not just out of a worry for the integrity of his Creed. Din cocked his head to the side and considered you, returning to total silence. You reeled inside, waiting for an answer that clearly wasn’t coming without a little prying.

Just as you opened your mouth to apologize, to say sorry for asking something so completely thoughtless and dumb, Din spoke. His voice was low and gravely, smoky like the campfire.

“Close your eyes.”

The world seemed to spiral around you, threatening to swallow you whole.

“W-What?”

“Close them,” he nodded once, “and don’t open them until I say so.”

You gaped up at him, mouth twisted in complete fucking confusion.

“But _why_?”

He sighed your name impatiently, the sound of it making your stomach flutter even more intensely. He shifted closer and brought his hand to your waist, lightly running a thumb along the material of your shirt. Goosebumps raised up in a spreading wave across your skin.

Oh, Maker. He was going to kiss you, wasn’t he? The fire in your belly burned brighter, hot flames licking up the inside of your spine.

“Din…” you whispered, your pupils blown wide as they sparkled up at him in the dim light.

Subtly and slowly, he squeezed your side, digging his fingers downwards into the meat of your hip. Your eyes fluttered shut at the contact, at how even this small touch was brimming with need.

The arm Din had stretched across the back of the log lifted up, disappearing between you as he removed his helmet. You bit your lip to try and quell the growing nerves and anticipation, waiting to see - or rather feel - his next move.

A hollow, muted thud of metal hitting soft earth pricked at your ears.

“Keep them closed,” he said again, just a hair’s breadth from your face. His voice was gentle and deep, warm like a setting summer sun.

You quietly gasped when his other hand came up to cup your face, lightly stroking along your jaw. Subconsciously, you leaned forward, seeking his lips in the dark.

His breath was deep and smelled like _him_ \- not like beskar or blasterfire - as it fanned across your skin. He brushed his nose against yours, inhaling as if trying to memorize the scent of you, to have you seep into every part of him.

Your hands crawled their way up his arms, one tucked around the edge of his chest plate while the other pushed into the back of his cowl. His hair was soft between your fingers, curling up in mussed waves along the base of his neck, and longer than you’d ever imagined. He shuddered as you gently scratched your nails along his scalp, melting into your touch. His breathing stuttered, catching in his throat as your lips ghosted over his.

They were perfect - sweet from the wine, warmer and softer than you’d dreamed. The kiss started small, timid in its exploration, and slowly grew from tiny brushes and pecks to something deeper. His lips parted, making room for his tongue to run along your lower lip like slick, hot velvet. You let him in and shifted closer, relishing in the feeling of both his strong arms wrapping fully around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. 

Maker, it felt so good. You never wanted to come up for air, perfectly content to spend an eternity in this very moment.

Reluctantly, Din pulled away - a little out of breath as he pressed his forehead to yours. You kept your eyes sealed shut despite the burning urge to sliver them open and see his flushed face, his swollen lips.

Moving his hands to your hips, Din let out a soft grunt as he hoisted you up onto his lap, letting your legs fall to either side. He rested back against the log and squeezed your thighs with a low hum.

The drag of his stubble against your neck sent shivers down your spine as he kissed along the lines of your throat, down and up until he reached your lips again. This time, the kiss was heady and desperate, all teeth and tongue and panting. His arousal curved thick and hard between you, covered by the worn canvas of his flight suit. A needy whimper tumbled past your lips as your hips hitched against him.

“Fuck,” he whispered between open-mouthed kisses, breathless and raspy. “You gotta stop doing that.”

You flashed a devilish smirk at him and kissed the space behind his ear, fluttering your tongue over the delicate skin.

“Doing what?” you said under your breath, rolling your hips against his lap again.

Din made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. It caved his chest in, making you sink further against his body.

“You know exactly what,” he said with a dark huff.

You hummed low in your throat and canted your hips again, dragging your heat along his covered length. His hands squeezed your thighs harder, but not enough to stop you.

“Hmmm,” you purred against his parted lips. “ _That’s descriptive._ ”


End file.
